


Fighting Sleep

by Shadowesque



Category: NBC's Hannibal
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-16
Updated: 2014-04-16
Packaged: 2018-01-19 13:21:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1471339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowesque/pseuds/Shadowesque
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for <a href="http://hannibalkink.dreamwidth.org/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://hannibalkink.dreamwidth.org/"><b>hannibalkink</b></a>: <a href="http://hannibalkink.dreamwidth.org/1375.html?thread=33887#cmt33887">Hannibal/Will, Will sleepwalks and Hannibal finds him, Will seems like the type to sleepwalk. Maybe he does this while he's on a case and Hannibal finds him. Cue Hannibal being both protective and disturbing (especially if he thinks about how vulnerable Will is, how easy it would be to hurt him, etc.).</a>, written prior to "Potage"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fighting Sleep

Heavy boots keep him grounded, footing even, drumbeat pulse. One step after the other. Confidence. He's a confident man, with a gun in his belt, knowing just what to do. The smell of fear and sweat and panic tanging the air like citrus. Soon there will be blood, and he will drink from his victim.

(This is someone else's design.)

They won't get far. He can practically hear their wild heart beating a far different rhythm than his boots. The thrill in the hungry pit of his stomach gives his muscles life enough to continue on. The night's chill barely touches him through his dark clothing, to be disposed of once the bloodletting is complete, and there is barely any fog rising from his breath, hot and heavy.

"Will?"

The entire image disappears faster than a pendulum swing. His bare feet are cold with grass poking up between his toes, and he's immediately aware of a bare sheen of sweat coating his clammy skin beneath shirt and shorts. Air can't come fast enough, coming first in a few desperate gasps, breaching the surface of the water of his mind, disoriented by the jerk back to what seems to be reality. His head snaps in the direction of the sound and for a few moments is completely thrown by the presence of Doctor Lecter there, with a few feet distancing them in anticipation and caution.

"What--what--" Will presses a hand to his face, calms his breath with a few deep pulls. It doesn't cease the tremor in his body, but it's better. "What are you doing here?" He prides himself with how little the words shake in spite of his frame.

"Making sure you don't hurt yourself sleepwalking."

That much was true, but there was so much more to it than just that. They hadn't gone back to their respective homes after this case fell into the FBI's lap, working far into the night until Hannibal finally suggested that Will needed sleep before he collapsed. The nightmares would plague the analyst, of course, but the sleepwalking had come as a surprise. The shifting of sheets and unsteady feet padding along the floor, rustling Hannibal from only the barest blanket of sleep not yet settled about him.

He should probably have tried to wake the man before making it out the door, but instead, the doctor followed, intrigued. Following the clues that burrowed into normally inaccessible parts of his brain, perhaps? Was this normal behavior for Will? The therapist side of him found it interesting merely to observe, and a decidedly different part of him wanted to make sure tortured Will didn't get harmed in the process.

(Not by anyone or anything who isn't him, of course.)

The dreams are an interest, yes, what roles his subconscious lets run loose in his mind, but Hannibal can't help but be more distracted by the helpless creature Will is outside of the nightmares. A wandering sleeper with nothing to his name but a few clothes. Why, any predator would have been able to do the same as Hannibal, slip after him, silently stalk him, before striking with flashing teeth and ripping flesh. How easily he could be killed near instantly with a blow. Or a shot. Or a blade to just the right areas. Take a knife and cut the knees out from under him. Hold him close while a hand closes around his throat, warm life ebbing away against his body. Bite into him and let him start awake to see blood dripping off lips and flesh torn between carnivorous teeth, long enough to see the alpha wolf underneath the cloth of a man.

Anything hungry enough would be able to sniff him out. And snuff him out. Can't have _that_ , not tonight. He doesn't move any closer, but he does reach out a beckoning hand.

"Come here. Let's meander our way back to bed, before you end up in the street." Of course. A car could just as easily destroy the shaken man, but such a waste that would be, roadkill for a hunter to scoop up for a quick meal on the side of the street. His tastes do not incline himself to scavenging leftover scraps.

Will blinks at the phrasing, "let's", "our", eyes flickering about on the ground here and there and to the hand and back the way he must have come. A breeze whisks sweat from him, and he involuntarily pulls in on himself, rubbing at his arms from the sudden chill.

"Thank you. I--" Whatever started in his throat, an apology perhaps, slinks away to die. Will just nods to end the thought and crunches barefooted to Hannibal's side.

Hannibal doesn't touch him, save for placing a jacket over Will's shoulders. Cold meat only belongs in a freezer, after all.


End file.
